


Life's Sweetest Reward

by MistressKat



Category: Lewis (TV)
Genre: Case Fic, Community: lewis_challenge, First Kiss, M/M, Mutual Pining, Romance, Undercover As Gay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-12
Updated: 2014-01-12
Packaged: 2018-01-08 12:00:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,969
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1132393
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MistressKat/pseuds/MistressKat
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Someone threatens to cause deadly havoc at the first Oxford Annual LGBT Singles Cruise and it’s up to Lewis and Hathaway to find out who and save the day. Discreetly. This can only mean one thing... Shameless romance à la ‘undercover as gay’ trope.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Life's Sweetest Reward

**Author's Note:**

  * For [paperscribe](https://archiveofourown.org/users/paperscribe/gifts).



> Written as part of the [Lewis Secret Santa 2013 Exchange](http://lewis-challenge.livejournal.com/75022.html) for [paperscribe](http://archiveofourown.org/users/paperscribe) whose request gave me the perfect reason to dust off this old plot bunny. This is as clichéd and unrealistic as anyone would expect, but about 8k longer than I expected. Sigh. Thank you to [Fictionwriter](http://archiveofourown.org/users/fictionwriter) for excellent last minute beta. The title is from the opening theme of [The Love Boat](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=m_wFEB4Oxlo). Because I kept humming it whilst writing and in the end... I just couldn’t resist. *g*
> 
> Gorgeous banner by [megan_moonlight](http://megan-moonlight.livejournal.com/), included with permission.

 

 

Robbie remembered being a fresh faced recruit, attending his first week at the training school and being told that being a copper meant you had to be prepared for anything. It was advice that had served him well during his three decades and then some on the job.  
  
Until the day came that nothing could have prepared him for.  
  
But then again, Robbie reckoned a little hysterically at the back of his mind as he swayed to the music, this probably wasn’t the kind of thing his instructor had been talking about.  
  
Because if anyone had told Robbie that he’d be spending his Saturday evening slow dancing with his sergeant under the stars while the band played [‘The Way You Look Tonight’ ](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=h9ZGKALMMuc)he would have seriously considered detaining to poor bastard under section 2 of the Mental Health Act 1983.  
  
As it turned out, though, by Saturday night he was too lightheaded with joy to be making statements about anyone else’s mental stability.  
  
  
***  
  
It started with a case. Because that’s how most things started with them – fights, jokes, long days, shared drinks – so why would this be any different?  
  
James had his sights set on a weekend of laundry and TV and noodling on his guitar in the blissful peace and quiet. It was all very ordinary and boring and just what he needed; some time to remember who he was outside of being Sergeant Hathaway, Inspector Lewis’ too-posh, too-clever bagman.  
  
He definitely had no plans to explore or acknowledge any type of unprofessional feelings whatsoever toward his boss. In fact, James had very adamant plans to firmly not think about Lewis at all. There would be no stray thoughts or pining, because James was tired of hitting his head against a brick wall and too smart to keep doing it for this long.  
  
No, a peaceful, calm, not confusing weekend was in order. So there he was, just about to hang his clothes to dry and maybe open a bottle of wine (man had to indulge in some vices after all), when his mobile rang.  
  
It was Lewis. Because of course.  For maybe two seconds James entertained the hope that he'd called about something non work related (maybe drinks? James could be up for a pint. Or maybe he could invite Lewis over for some wine? Or was that too obvious?) but as soon as he picked up the phone he could hear that Robbie’s voice was all business.  
  
With a sigh James put the bottle back in the rack and picked up his jacket and keys. Forty hour weeks were a thing of the past when you moved to CID, that was for sure.  
  
  
***  
  
  
Robbie got to the station first. He could go in but for some reason he felt like he should wait for his sergeant so they could get to the briefing together, so he leaned against the car, enjoying the mild evening.  
  
Inevitably, as they were wont to do nowadays, his thoughts drifted to Hathaway. Robbie wondered if the case had interrupted Hathaway's plans for the weekend, if maybe he'd been planning to go away. Or go out. Maybe he'd had a date.  
  
Robbie frowned, playing with his car keys in his pocket. Well, James hadn't said anything about plans or a date, but Robbie hadn't asked either, because what Hathaway did in his own time was his business and there needed to be a respect for privacy in a good partnership like theirs.  
  
But just because a date hadn't been mentioned, didn't mean there wasn't one. First rule of detective work: never assume anything. Robbie shifted uncomfortably, uncrossing and re-crossing his arms. This felt like one of those questions he didn’t want to know the answer to. Sometimes, ignorance really was bliss.  
  
But the fact remained that Hathaway was a young man with a lot to give... Well, a rather sarcastic know-it-all at times, and he really should learn to smile more, women liked that... But still, Lewis was pretty sure that, objectively speaking, his partner was what many a young woman would describe as a catch. Or a young man. Robbie frowned at himself; never assume anything. He was of the generation that sometimes needed reminding of that fact, but at least he worked at it unlike some gits in the force.  
  
Before Robbie could sink any deeper into his increasingly unhappy thoughts, James’ car rolled in through the station gates. He parked near Lewis, got out and walked over, about two strides on those long legs of his.  
  
“A triple murder is it?” James asked.  
  
“What?”  
  
“Well, judging by your face somebody definitely died and your displeasure seems to be deep enough to warrant the demise of more than a single person,” James commented as they began walking towards the entrance of the building.  
  
Lewis harrumphed, rolling his eyes. “I don't bloody know what it is yet, Innocent just said to call you and come for a briefing asap. Just not happy about having my weekend interrupted.” He cast a 'can't imagine you are either' sideways look at his sergeant.  
  
Hathaway made a non-committal sound, opening the door and gesturing Lewis to go ahead, his face completely impassive.  
  
Robbie scowled at him, ninety percent sure James was smirking somewhere under all that blandness. God the man was irritating at times, it was like trying to find purchase on a glass wall  
  
“I’m not that old and decrepit yet,” he muttered, but walked through anyway.  
  
“No Sir,” Hathaway said, just like every other time. They did this particular dance a lot.  
  
The lift was blessedly empty. “Did you have to cancel any plans then?” Robbie asked, keeping his eyes on the slow climb of the numbers. “Make any rain checks?” He knew he was fishing, and he knew that Hathaway knew that he was fishing, but he just didn't seem to be able to help himself.  
  
Hathaway stared straight ahead as well, hands behind his back. “Hasn't been raining for a while, Sir,” he said.  
  
Before Robbie could puzzle that one out, the lift dinged, the doors opened, and Hathaway was gesturing at him to go ahead again. Which he did, so distracted that he forgot to complain about being treated like an old lady.  
  
  
***  
  
  
Innocent’s office was fastidiously tidy as usual. She was talking with a well dressed gentleman in his late 50s when Lewis and Hathaway knocked and entered.  
  
“Ah, detectives. Finally.” She introduced them to Mr. Atkins and then got down to business.  
  
“There's been a death threat.” She handed a letter for them to read. It was sealed in a protective plastic bag, making it clearly a piece of evidence. Robbie scanned it first and James could tell it was unpleasant just from the genuine disgust that flared across his features before he got them under control.  
  
“Nasty business Ma’m, Sir' Robbie said, nodding at Innocent and Mr. Atkins. He passed the letter to James.  
  
Hathaway could feel his own face pinching unhappily and he had to fight not to shred the whole thing after reading it.  
  
It was a death threat all right. It seemed the writer had taken offence at Mr. Atkins' 'perverted lifestyle' and was telling him to publically renounce it by cancelling something the writer called 'the planned abomination on the 23rd of this month' or else there would be consequences, and they would not be pleasant.  
  
What made the letter stand out was not just the bigoted name calling – Hathaway had dealt with his share of homophobic hate crime and knew how common it was – but the chilling rationality and detachment with which the author of the letter wrote. This was not some pot-bellied laid off guy lashing out at everyone different because life had dealt him a bad hand and he needed someone to blame. This was not a letter written in the heat of anger, an empty threat made out of frustration.  
  
It was calm, rational, cultured even in its own twisted way. This was someone who had every intention of carrying out their promises.  
  
“...I strongly suggest you cancel it, Sir,” Robbie was saying when James tuned back into the conversation.  
  
Mr. Atkins looked angry. “I most certainly will not! Do you know how long this has taken to organise? How much money we’ve spent? How many people are coming? And more than that, I will not give in to threats! You don't back down from bullies, detective. I would've thought you'd understand that!”  
  
Lewis ' mouth tightened in a way Hathaway knew meant he'd taken offence but wasn't going to let it show.  
  
“Yes Sir, but with all due respect, I don't think it's wise to ignore this.”  
  
“I agree,” Innocent chimed in. “Mr. Atkins, we've already discussed this, but I implore you to please reconsider...”  
  
“No. no, I will not reconsider, nor I am ignoring the threat, I’m here, aren't I? Asking for help. The first Oxford Annual LGBT Singles River Cruise will go ahead as planned and I want your officers on it to help catch this guy as quietly and discreetly as possible.” He crossed his arms, tilting his jaw up defiantly.  
  
James blinked, seeing the way Robbie’s eyes widened in surprise as well. This... Well, this was unexpected. “I...” he said and then closed his mouth.  
  
Lewis’ head swivelled toward Innocent who was already holding up a hand in anticipation of any protests. “You’re the only team who is even remotely free at the moment,” she said firmly.  
  
And. Well. That was that.  
  
  
***  
  
  
Except for how Robbie had nothing to wear.  
  
For some reason this was the thought that haunted him all the way out of Innocent’s office, down to the parking lot, into his car, and finally home.  
  
It being a singles cruise, he and Hathaway were to arrive separately and pretend not to know each other whilst taking the opportunity to – ‘Discreetly!’ Atkins’ voice reminded him inside his head – put out some feelers, ask some questions, do some detecting amidst the guests.  
  
It wasn’t the most sophisticated of operations but they didn’t exactly have a lot of time. In fact – Robbie glanced at his watch – he had less than three hours to shower, change, and get his head in something approaching professional work mode before he had to be on the boat. Determinedly, he walked to his bedroom and flung open the wardrobe doors.  
  
A row of suits stared back at him, mocking. Hathaway’s parting remark of ‘nothing grey or navy blue’ and his meaningful glance at Lewis’ attire had made him rolls his eyes at the time, but Robbie had to admit the man had a point. They were supposed to blend in and, well, while his wardrobe was entirely respectable, it just didn’t seem to cut the muster when it came to attending a singles cruise.  
  
A gay singles cruise at that, although Lewis stomped down hard on what he was sure were wildly inaccurate and stereotypical images. Besides, even if some of the younger guests chose to dress a bit more... adventurously, Mr Atkins had assured him that the cruise was open for people of all ages. No, Robbie just needed to find something that was... casual, but smart, not to squeeze himself into a bodysuit.  
  
With a sigh he pushed the hangers aside, delving deeper. No, no, god no, he might as well glue his warrant card to his forehead, no, no, maybe...  
  
Carefully, almost reverently, he pulled the shirt off the hanger, instantly assailed by the memory of Val’s pleased smile and the slow heat in her eyes as she’d watched Robbie try it on that first time. The shirt had been an impulse purchase, or at least that’s what Val had claimed. She’d certainly found occasions for Robbie to wear it though; demanding to be taken out and then looking smugger than any copper’s wife surely had reason to be, her arm threaded possessively through his.  
  
They were good memories, making Robbie smile. He was half braced for the pain of them too but when it came it was only an echo, muted and soft and overlaid by the happiness shared. Heartened, he inspected the shirt.  
  
It was deep green with a hint of blue at its depths, short-sleeved and made out of what Robbie assumed was some kind of silk blend, not that he knew anything about fabrics. Still, it fell smooth and weightless against his skin, like wearing water or the essence of some cool, shaded forest brook.  
  
Lewis shook his head at his flights of fancy, imagining what James would say if he knew his old inspector had taken a turn to the poetic. Besides, time was wasting while he’d been woolgathering.  
  
It was a relief to find that the shirt still fitted despite it being years since he’d last worn it. Granted, it was a bit more snug around the middle than he remembered but not uncomfortably so. Robbie sucked in his gut slightly and regarded his reflection in the mirror.  
  
Well, he’d never win any beauty contests but it would have to do. Briefly, he thought of Val again, how funny she would've found the whole thing and for a moment he could almost hear her laughing at him gently.  
  
Then he had no more time for anything but a bitten off curse as he caught the time on the bedside clock. Quickly, he divested himself of the shirt, laying it over a chair to wait while he hurried off to the shower.  
  
  
***  
  
  
James was one of the last to board the ship. Well, a ferry really. He had to admit that Mr Atkins’ team had done a good job at making it look welcoming and almost classy. There were no rainbow banners, and Hathaway wasn’t sure whether to feel disappointed or relieved about that.  
  
Instead, the deck and every railing were covered in flowers and greenery, some real and some fake, and amidst those James could see fairy lights. It would no doubt look spectacular once the sun dipped below the horizon although it being summer, that was still a good few hours away.  
  
“Good grief,” a female voice said next to him. “It’s like a garden party. On water.”  
  
James turned to exchange a bemused smile with a petite brunette about his age.  
  
“Well,” she observed, blinking up at her from under her hat, “Aren’t you a tall drink of something or other?”  
  
“James.” Hathaway offered a hand, which was immediately shaken with some vigour.  
  
“Abbie,” she said. “Are you here of your own volition or were you dragged in, kicking and screaming?”  
  
“Erm, the former,” James answered as they slowly made their way toward the front deck and the long table of quickly disappearing glasses of Buck’s Fizz. To the side he could see a band setting up, one of the musicians unpacking an honest to god saxophone.  
  
“It’s not quite what I expected,” he added, although if pressed he could not have said just exactly what he had been expecting if not this.  
  
“You have to forgive Uncle Harry,” Abbie said. “He does like to make a statement.”  
  
Hathaway wasn’t a detective for nothing and this connection was relatively easy to make. “Harry Atkins?” he asked. “Mr Atkins is your uncle?”  
  
Abbie smiled a bit ruefully. “Well, not by blood. But by anything that matters I guess. He was there for me through some... not so great times. Which,” she drank deeply from her glass, making a slight face, “apparently gives him the right to worry about my romantic life. Or lack thereof.”  
  
“Ah.” James nodded sympathetically. “Hence the kicking and screaming.”  
  
Around them, the people milled and chatted, tongues loosened by the alcohol and the warm evening. A couple of volunteers were handing out programmes and Hathaway could see that the night promised more than just socialising; a buffet dinner, dancing and a raffle in aid of a local hospice were all listed as the entertainment.  
  
Trying to appear casual about it, Hathaway scanned the crowds, attempting to locate both his boss and to see if any of the guests looked like a potential threat. He couldn’t spot Lewis but that didn’t worry him too much. The ferry was quite big, with a bar and dining area inside, as well as another open deck area at the rear, and he’d gotten a text earlier letting him know Robbie was on board as planned. And as far as locating their suspect went, James wasn’t holding his breath. If years of police work had taught him anything it was that you could never tell whether someone was up to no good just from their looks. Still, he clocked a few people who appeared less than thrilled to be on the cruise but perhaps they, like Abbie, had been bullied into coming by well meaning friends or family.  
  
“You seem like you know something about that,” Abbie interrupted his thoughts.  
  
“Sorry, what?”  
  
“Being nagged about finding someone,” she clarified, regarding him with a surprisingly sharp look in her hazel eyes.  
  
James shrugged, looking away. “I guess, a little.” The memory of Robbie saying ‘you need someone’ still brought a bitter taste to his mouth. There was no honest answer he could give to that, or at least none that wouldn’t risk bringing his entire world crashing down around his ears.  
  
Abbie seemed to sense that the issue was off limits as she changed topics smoothly, starting to point out the people she knew. Her observations were funny and clever and more than a little scathing, and she soon had Hathaway smiling, and then downright chuckling.  
  
She also turned out to be useful for gathering intelligence and inadvertently helped James narrow down the suspect population with her undertone monotone of: “...and that’s Paul, used to date Ricky there and is probably only here to make him jealous,” and “...known her for years, never passes an opportunity for dancing even though she’s atrocious. This one time...” and so on.  
  
In hindsight, it took him embarrassingly long to realise that Abbie wasn’t just being friendly, but that she was also subtly hitting on him.  
  
“Um,” James eloquently said when she apparently got tired of hinting and straight up asked about his plans for after. His surprise must have been written clearly on his face though as her smile twisted downwards for a split second before she rallied herself.  
  
“Never mind,” she said. “I can see you’re not interested.” She shrugged. “At least I can tell Uncle Harry that I’ve made an effort.”  
  
“Sorry,” James said. “Since it’s an LGBT cruise, I just wasn’t expecting...”  
  
Abbie pursed her lips in annoyance, fists on her hips. “Yes, an LGBT cruise. And the B stands for...?”  
  
“Bisex— Oh.” Now James just felt like a first grade idiot, especially considering.  
  
“Always the same thing,” Abbie was muttering, seemingly to herself. “Apparently we’re like the Spanish Inquisition, no one ever expects the bisexuals. I swear I’m going to start wearing a badge to these things. Maybe a banner.”  
  
“Actually,” James said, because sometimes – ‘usually’ Robbie’s voice inside his head commented drily – he couldn’t help himself, “They called ahead. So to speak.”  
  
Abbie blinked at him in confusion. “Who?”  
  
“The Spanish Inquisition. Contrary to the popular belief, they gave you thirty days notice to prepare your case.”  
  
The corner of Abbie’s mouth was twitching. “I see. Does this mean that thirty days from now you might be ready to grab a cup of coffee? Or whatever it is that you need to water that brain of yours.”  
  
James looked at her, her upturned face and flyaway hair peeking out from under the hat, her yellow sundress and black Doc Martens, her chipped nail polish and the confident way she carried herself, and there was a part of him that wanted to say ‘yes’, and even a bigger part that thought he should say ‘yes’. She was funny and smart and during their brief discussion, they’d already discovered shared areas of interest, but...  
  
But.  
  
“I’m flattered,” James said, cringing at how hollow the words sounded. “I really am. It’s just...”  
  
“You’re gay,” Abbie finished for him.  
  
“No, actually... Spanish Inquisition,” he admitted sheepishly.  
  
“Huh.” She narrowed her eyes at him. “You’re here with someone,” she finally declared. “I saw you scanning the crowds and it wasn’t the ‘checking out the talent’ type of thing; you were looking for someone specific.”  
  
“I...” He could try to deny it, but she was bound to see him with Lewis sooner or later that evening. After all, they couldn’t exactly advance the investigation without actually talking about it at some point, and it would be far easier to give Abbie a plausible reason...  
  
“Not really with someone,” Hathaway said. “But yeah, you got me; I was looking for someone... Someone I know who is supposed to be here too.”  
  
“And I’m guessing they’re the reason you’re on this cruise,” Abbie said slyly.  
  
“Yeah, he... It’s complicated.” Well, that was one way of putting it. Kinder too than admitting to having a pathetic, impossible, way-beyond-a-crush thing for his boss. “And I... Oh.”  
  
The object of their discussion chose that moment to emerge from around the corner, glass in hand, and wander over to lean on the railing on the other side of the deck. Lewis was still partly covered by other people and James couldn’t see him clearly, but what he could, made his breath catch and something hot and tight lodge itself in his chest.  
  
Wherever Lewis had found that shirt it made him look... relaxed and somehow younger. Rakish even, Hathaway thought, silently grimacing at the word but... Well, it fitted.  
  
Robbie was smiling at something, maybe the scenery, maybe at whatever the person next to him had said, it didn’t matter. What mattered was the way it lit up his entire face, pulling an answering smile from James automatically.  
  
“Oh, you’ve got it bad.” There was nothing but amusement in Abbie’s voice and with a start Hathaway realised she’d been watching him watch Robbie all this time. “Go talk to him.”  
  
“No, I...” James tried to think of an excuse that would allow him and Lewis to maintain their separate covers for a while longer. It wouldn’t do to raise anyone’s suspicions, just in case the person behind the hate mail was on the lookout for trouble.  
  
As it turned out, Mr Atkins provided a perfect one. “Ladies and gentleman and everyone in between,” he greeted the crowds, clutching a microphone in his large hand and standing on the small makeshift stage. “Welcome on board!”  
  
A large cheer followed and Hathaway settled in to listen to the opening speech, grateful to have something distract his attention away from things he shouldn’t be thinking about in the first place.  
  
  
***  
  
  
Robbie slipped away after the speech and the enthusiastic applause that accompanied it. He had been half expecting something to kick off during it and knew Hathaway too had been tensed for action, but nothing untoward had happened. Despite his worry about being late, Robbie had in fact been one of the first on board and thus had had plenty of time to do a slow walk around all the public spaces and clap eyes on most of the guests. So far no one had caught his attention.  
  
Well. That wasn’t quite true, was it? Lewis ducked inside, away from the afternoon sun and into the cool and relatively quiet bar/dining area. The staff were already busily setting up the promised buffet table and after a moment’s hesitation, he headed to the bar. It was abandoned except for the barman who paid him little attention after passing him a pint and taking his money.  
  
Robbie returned to his earlier thought, ruefully admitting to himself that while no one had raised his concern by seeming like a potentially violent bigot in disguise, his attention had definitely been caught. By a certain tall, blond sergeant who looked indecently good in too tight jeans and a t-shirt that he suspected was the exact hazy blue of James’ eyes.  
  
Although, if he was honest with himself – and he tried to be nowadays, self-deception was a young man’s vice and one he could no longer afford – his attention had been caught a long time ago. Possibly from the fist moment he’d laid eyes on the man and his earnest bloody sign and his earnest bloody face at the airport all those years ago. Of course, it had taken him some time to recognise the thing for what it was and then some more time to come to terms with it.  
  
Now that he had though, he’d come to the conclusion that he’d probably left it too late. Maybe there had been a time when James wouldn’t had been entirely opposed to... to something more than partners and friends – Robbie didn’t think he’d read the signs quite so wrongly, or well, interpreted them retrospectively in the light of his own realisation – but surely that time had passed. He was close to retiring, a grandfather now, and those things told him that he and James were in too different stages of their lives and that he should just forget about the whole thing.  
  
Cynically, he remembered Mr Atkins’ wish that the cruise would bring people closer to ‘finding their one true love’. Lewis had never had much time for romance, at least not for the kind found in Hollywood movies. Everyday life – waking up together, arguing over TV and planning holidays, things like that – had always been what really mattered. It had certainly been what the love between him and Val had been about, and strong and true it had been too, if lacking in sweeping romance. Besides, Lewis found it impossible to believe any more in any kind of notion of ‘the one’. Life had shown him unequivocally that it was possible to love more than one person at the time. Sometimes he wondered if he’d felt like this about James if Val had still been alive and the only answer he could come up with was ‘yes’ and then, on the heels of that, always came the memory of Val’s soft laughter and the way she’d cupped his face and told him he worried too much, that everything would turn out fine.  
  
Of course, believing her advice was easier said than done. Especially when Hathaway insisted on messing with Lewis’ equilibrium – yes, he knew what it meant and could even spell it, thank you very much – parading around in jeans that looked like they’d been painted to his long legs and don’t think Lewis hadn’t noticed the admiring stares that had been following his sergeant’s trim backside either.  
  
He took a long drink of his ale, scowling at nothing and uncaring for a moment about the case or how unfair he was being, especially since he knew full well that it was because of the case that James was wearing what he was.  
  
“Second thoughts about coming?”  
  
Robbie snapped out of his morose ruminations, seeing the barman had moved closer, glancing at him from the corner of his eyes as he stocked glasses.  
  
“What do you mean?”  
  
“Well, you looked like you were regretting being here,” the barman said. His voice was carefully neutral the way all good bartenders’ were as he pulled out a knife and a bowl of lemons. “And you’re sitting inside when there’s sunshine and revelry above deck.”  
  
Lewis shook his head, partly at the words, partly at himself. “You’re right,” he said, getting up. “I’m being ridiculous.” Leaving his pint behind, he turned around, determined to act his age rather than some pining teenager. They had a case to solve and hiding from people was not going to help with that.  
  
Outside the party was getting into a good swing. The band was playing some background music and the waiters and volunteers were carrying around trays of drinks and reels of raffle tickets, respectively. Lewis got one of each, looking around and wondering where to start his campaign of talking to people and trying to find information – after all, that’s what ninety percent of police work was about.  
  
Turned out, he didn’t have to worry about that. People were more than willing to chat and it was easy to move from group to group. It took him a while but soon Lewis felt he’d gotten the hang of it. Granted, it had been some years since he’d been flirting and, with some youthful exceptions, that had mostly involved women, but it wasn’t so different.  
  
To his surprise, and – he had to admit – quiet pleasure, he had garnered quite a few veiled and not so veiled invitations, and a small stack of business cards by the time Mr Atkins announced that the dinner was being served. But, as satisfying as that was on its own right, none of it had brought him any closer to finding their suspect.  
  
Lewis was leaning on the railing, watching as the guest start to drift inside and then back out with platefuls of food. He was considering doing the same thing when a hand landed between his shoulder blades briefly and a young man with an impish smile and messy hair settled next to him.  
  
“Hello,” he said, proffering a hand. “I’m Timmy.”  
  
“Nice to meet you, Timmy.” Lewis shook the man’s hand, fighting his amusement.  
  
“So, here’s the thing,” Timmy said, shifting slightly from foot to foot. “My friends,” he pointed at a laughing group of people, “have this bet.”  
  
Robbie had been a copper long enough to know when someone was trying to get one over him. “Uh huh,” he said, raising his eyebrows and crossing his arms. “And what’s that?”  
  
Timmy took a step closer and Lewis could smell some expensive aftershave. “Well, they bet that I couldn’t get a kiss from you. And I bet that I could.” He had the decency to at least pretend to be sheepish about it.  
  
“Is that right?” Robbie asked, biting his lip to stop smiling. The lad was young, younger even than Hathaway, and for all his cheekiness he wasn’t actually a bad sort. And if he thought he’d got an old man flustered... “Well, we can’t have you losing, can we,” Lewis said, rather enjoying the startled widening of Timmy’s eyes.  
  
Then, before he could change his mind, he leant over, cupping Timmy’s jaw in one hand as he turned his head to the side and dropped a kiss to his cheek. “There you go,” Robbie said, letting his laughter escape. “One kiss. You win.”  
  
Timmy blinked and then, to his credit, he broke into an infectious grin. “I guess that was more than I deserved,” he said. “But here, in case you fancy letting me pay you back sometime. And I promise my aim is more accurate.” With a wink he tucked a business card into Robbie’s shirt pocket and then took his leave.  
  
Lewis stared after him for a while, still amused by the episode and grinning to himself. When he turned around though, he caught sight of something that made his smile fade. James was standing to the side, watching, his face a picture of such careful blankness that Robbie instantly knew it was hiding a strong emotion – but what kind, he hadn’t a clue.  
  
Slowly, he tilted his head toward the door to the inside, raising his eyebrows meaningfully. It was high time they had a chat. And maybe not just about the case, although Robbie suspected that even with no viable leads that would be the far easier topic.  
  
  
***  
  
  
James had been watching Robbie for a while. In fact, he had probably been watching Robbie more than the other guests and he really hoped his distraction wouldn’t come to bite him in the ass because the truth was that all sorts of illegal things or suspicious behaviour could have been happening right under his nose and he wouldn’t have noticed.  
  
In his defence, there had been plenty to be distracted by. He had only seen Robbie out of his suit a handful of times so that alone was a novelty. The shirt looked even better closer and James’ fingers itched to touch the smooth fabric, trace the way it moulded itself over Lewis’ back, tightening just right as he moved. Add to that the hereto unforeseen sight of Robbie Lewis on the pull. Well, Hathaway amended in his head, pretending to be on the pull. Still, watching the effortless way Robbie moved among the people, chatting and smiling and, and _touching_ and _letting himself be touched_ – all both similar but eerily different to the way he behaved with people in the course of their normal duties – brought forward a complicated mixture of emotions.  
  
There was surprise for certain, and pride too, at how deftly Lewis handled the situation. Hathaway had half expected him to be at least a little uncomfortable about being hit on by other men, but instead Robbie seemed completely at ease. And that realisation brought shame, hot and burning, at having doubted him in the first place. Hadn’t Lewis proved time and time again that he didn’t judge people based on who they loved or what they looked like, that unlike many officers his age, he genuinely tried to work through any prejudices he did have, that he was willing to learn and listen and be wrong. What did it say about James that he still assumed the worst, that he still couldn’t quite trust that... that Robbie wouldn’t... what? Disown him? Be disgusted? No, his head knew it, but his heart... Fear was the root of all evil. Father Michael’s words reached him from beyond the years and James could only agree.  
  
Fear and coveting what was not his to covet. Every smile and touch Lewis had granted for people who were not him was like a stab and jealousy, ugly and without any grace, festered in his heart. He’d thought he was beyond that, that he’d managed to make peace with wanting what he couldn’t have and just being grateful for what he could but...  
  
But apparently not. It was not a pleasant truth to learn about himself, and watching Lewis laugh with and kiss a man even younger still than James, had been like a knife to his heart, had made him want to run, to leave, just so he wouldn’t have to see...  
  
It took all his effort to remind himself that Robbie was just playing a role, that even if he was interested in men, he would be extremely unlikely to pick them up at singles cruise, that they were here to work for God’s sake and he would do well to remember that. So when Lewis nodded toward the bar in an obvious sign of ‘let’s talk’, Hathaway squared his shoulders, recited the police oath silently to himself, and followed.  
  
It wasn’t as straightforward as just grabbing a table and talking of course, although he doubted most people would have given that a second thought, busy as they were with food and company of their own. Not sure what else to do, James headed to the bar. It was fairly full at the moment, one harried woman pulling pints while the barman was mostly ignoring the customers, focusing on his clipboard, presumably taking stock.  
  
Hathaway didn’t have to stand there long until he felt someone place a hand on the small of his back. He tensed for a second until he realised who it was and then he tensed for a few more seconds for an entirely different reason before he consciously relaxed and gave Robbie his best inquisitive smile of 'oh hello stranger, definitely don't know you'.  
  
He could see the corners of Robbie’s eyes crinkle in amusement, but he played along, leaving his hand on James’ back and leaning over to ask if he would like a drink.  
  
“Sure, why not,” James said. “I’ll have a coke.” He would have liked a large dash of whisky in it too, but reckoned it was safer to keep to the non-alcoholic options. Besides, they still had a case to solve. God knew, Robbie’s hand against his skin and the way he was essentially crowding him against the bar, were already making it difficult to focus.  
  
It took a while for Lewis to get the barman’s attention, but finally they got their drinks, all the while keeping up meaningless small talk, just in case anyone was listening.  
  
“I don’t think service industry is his calling,” James said under his breath as the sour looking bar tender had wordlessly handed back the change, immediately retreating toward the backroom to the obvious displeasure of the woman left to hold the fort on her own.  
  
“I think you’re right,” Lewis agreed. “So...” he continued, letting his eyes travel from the top of James’ head to his feet and back again, “Shall we grab a table and get to know each other a bit more?”  
  
And fuck, he knew, he knew, it was just for show but the effect it was having on him was painfully, devastatingly real. James could feel himself flushing, the frisson of excitement pulling him straight and pooling low in his stomach. “Yeah, uh,” he cleared his throat, praying Lewis would believe he had just acquired some sudden acting skills, “that would be nice.”  
  
They claimed an empty booth and James sat down, expecting Robbie to take the seat opposite but instead he slid in after him like it was the most natural thing in the world. If he’d thought the closeness was distracting at the bar, it was nothing compared to this. James could smell the faint aroma of Robbie’s aftershave and all but jumped out of his skin when he felt the press of a leg against his.  
  
It took some effort, just trying to keep his breathing under control. But of course Lewis was just playing the role as necessitated by their position and, thankfully, had no idea of the effect it was having on James. Normally, he much preferred to sit on the outside seat, didn’t like to feel penned in, but that wasn’t bothering him at the moment. Maybe it was simply because Lewis was someone he implicitly trusted, but Hathaway suspected that wasn’t the whole truth.  
  
They kept up the small talk for a minute longer until Robbie finally lowered his voice and said: “I don’t think anyone’s paying any attention.”  
  
“I don’t think so either,” James said. “After all, two people in close conversation isn’t exactly a rarity around here.” He nodded meaningfully toward the rest of the bar which was full of couples and small groups, talking and laughing.  
  
“A couple just like any other couple,” Lewis agreed, and before James had a chance to wonder about his choice of words, he continued: “Please tell me you got something. Because I feel like I’ve chit-chatted about weather and gay rights to every bloody person on the ship and they all agree that the first is fabulous and the last is moving in the right direction and not a single one of them is tickling my warning bells.” His face was a familiar mixture of frustration and optimism, something Hathaway was used to seeing during the course of their work.  
  
And as always, it felt like a personal failure not to be able to provide good news. “I’m afraid not, Sir,” he said, looking down at his glass. “I haven’t spoken to quite as many people as you.” And, well, didn’t that come out sounding bitter. Hathaway cleared his throat, moving on quickly in the hopes Lewis hadn’t caught it. “But I made the acquaintance of Mr Atkins’ niece – of sorts – and she seemed to know most everyone on board and... Nothing.” He shrugged, glancing at Robbie and fighting the flinch at the disappointment he saw there. Even though he knew it wasn’t directed at him, it was still difficult not to feel like it was.  
  
“Bugger!” Lewis cursed softly, gazing into thin air, obviously thinking. The short sleeves left his forearms bare, and James couldn’t help but notice how tanned and toned they looked. Absentmindedly, he wondered if Lewis had been spending more time at the allotment again, catching the sun and the smell of clean earth.  
  
“You know what that means?”  
  
The words jolted Hathaway out of his thoughts. “Sir?”  
  
Robbie huffed. “Keep up lad, have you got a sunstroke or something? If it’s not any of the guests...”  
  
“...it’s got to be a member of the staff,” James finished, wrenching his mind back to the case.  
  
“Damn it!” Lewis tapped at the table top in irritation. “They’ll know the ferry inside out and if they wanted to cause trouble it would be easily done.”  
  
James’ head was whirling with the worst case scenarios, anything from poisoned food to an explosion in the engine room. “I’ll call the station, get someone to do a background check on all the staff.” He pulled out his mobile only to curse quietly. “No signal.”  
  
Wordlessly, Lewis checked his phone too, only to grimace in resignation. “Guess we’ll have to do this the old-fashioned way,” he said.  
  
“And what’s that?”  
  
“Sleuthing,” Robbie said, getting up and holding out a hand. “Come on, lad. Time to check out the back rooms.”  
  
James could feel his eyebrows rising until they were likely at risk of disappearing into his hairline. He chose not to comment but Lewis’ own words seemed to catch up with him and his face turned the most interesting shade of pink. For some reason, the whole thing made Hathaway feel immensely better. Perhaps it was just getting the confirmation that he wasn’t the only one thrown by their cover and surroundings.  
  
  
***

 

The easiest way of getting somewhere you weren’t supposed to go was simply to walk in and look like you belonged. Robbie led the way toward the crew only areas, all the while pondering that perhaps the same held true for other things too. Like behaving in a distinctively proprietary manner toward your sergeant.  
  
Lewis ducked into a staircase leading downward toward the lower decks, sensing more than hearing Hathaway following at his heels. He couldn’t quite shake the memory of leaning against James at the bar, sitting pressed together in the booth, how right and natural it had felt. How much he wanted to do it again if James would...  
  
A door banged open somewhere above them, two voices arguing loudly over whose turn it was to take a break. Lewis froze in his tracks, almost at the foot of the stairs, heart jumping.  
  
“I think they’re coming this way, Sir,” James whispered behind him urgently.  
  
“Damn, damn, quickly then lad.” He grabbed Hathaway’s hand, tugging him along the corridor, trying every door on the way. Unfortunately, they were all locked.  
  
“Maybe we should just...?” James was digging out his warrant card but Lewis shook his head.  
  
“No, it’ll be all over the ship in less than five minutes that we’re coppers and we’ll be sure to never find him then!”  
  
They were standing close, whispering in the middle of the corridor and all the while the two arguing crew members were getting nearer.  
  
“Well, then we need an excuse,” Hathaway hissed, casting around as if expecting to pluck one from the air.  
  
For a few seconds Lewis was drawing a blank too, just about to give up and get his warrant card out after all, but then his eyes landed on a narrow space between what he assumed were storage closets. It was nowhere near big enough to actually hide them, but there were other reasons why two people might seek such a place in a cruise like this...  
  
Before he had a chance to change his mind he pushed James into the alcove, pressing himself right against him.  
  
“What...?”  
  
“An excuse,” Robbie murmured, his insides knotted with tension, mind screaming at him, demanding what the bloody hell he thought he was doing. But there was no time for second guessing. The arguing voices were getting closer, about to round the corner into the corridor and once that happened...  
  
Despite the low lighting Lewis could see the exact moment James realised what he was about to do; the almost comical widening of his eyes and the panicky exhale that Robbie could feel against his face, and he was so desperately sorry if he was causing some genuine distress here, crossing a line he should’ve left well enough alone, but then they were out of time for regrets or change of plan.  
  
The first press of lips was awkward and stilted, most of Robbie’s attention on the approaching crew members. Hathaway was silent and tense against him, his hands gripping at Robbie’s arms like he didn’t know whether to push him away or hold him close, and somewhere in the background, though not coming any nearer at the moment, the argument over appropriate distribution of break times was still going on.  
  
It was instinct, not so different from his usual urge to sooth and care, that made him change the angle, to cradle James’ head in one of his hands and card his fingers through the short hairs at the nape. There was a moment of resistance; just a few seconds long enough for Lewis to think he’d made a mistake, but then James relaxed, his mouth softening as he slouched low and – bloody _fuck_ – spread his legs to accommodate the way Robbie was pressed between them.  
  
And then... Then they were kissing properly; slow and tentative but with definite intention and Robbie forgot this was supposed to be nothing but a way to maintain their cover, forgot all the reasons why this was a bad idea, forgot everything but the heated push of lips and tongues and the way James’ breath hitched when Robbie scraped his fingernails against his base of his skull.  
  
It had been years since he’d kissed someone like this, _decades_ since he’d kissed another man, and the roughness of stubble and the hard planes and angles of the body pressing against him made desire coil hot inside his chest. And lower.  
  
Then James made a sound, a quiet desperate noise, caught somewhere between a moan and a sob.  
  
It was like a kick to the gut. What they hell were they doing? Robbie wrenched himself away, shocked and panting and—  
  
“You guys really shouldn’t be here,” an amused female voice said.  
  
James’ stare shifted to somewhere over of his shoulder and with an effort Lewis turned around. Two women, their argument momentarily forgotten, regarded them with identical expressions of exasperation, tinged with laughter.  
  
“If I got a pound every time I walked in on guests having sex, I’d be able to quit my job,” one of them said.  
  
“We weren’t having sex!” Hathaway almost squeaked, clearly scandalised.  
  
In any other circumstances it would have been funny but Lewis found himself similarly indignant. “No, no, we were just...”  
  
“...not far from it,” the first woman said. Being older she was the less amused and more tired looking of the two, clearly having had her share of dealing with difficult customers. “Look, gentlemen, this area is staff only. I’m going to have to ask you continue your... discussion, above deck.” She folded her arms, looking stern.  
  
“Of course, we’re very sorry,” Lewis said, the words sounding insincere even to his own ears. “Come on, Ha—James.” He grabbed Hathaway by the arm, starting a slow walk back toward the stairs.  
  
  
***  
  
  
James’ legs were moving, keeping pace, and when Robbie let go of his hand he tucked it into his jeans pocket, safely out of way. His mind, however, felt frozen in place, still trying to process what had happened earlier.  
  
Lewis had kissed him. Yes, for cover, ostensibly. But.  
  
It hadn’t felt like that.  
  
Robert Lewis had _kissed_ him. And he had kissed back. Of course he had, desperately, wantonly, because if he’d ever thought he’d be strong enough to resist an opportunity like that he had been fooling himself. They’d kissed and he suspected that if not for the interruption, they would still be kissing.  
  
“Wait.” Lewis came to a stop at the foot of the stairs and Hathaway only narrowly missed walking straight into him. “I think we’re clear.”  
  
James turned to look behind them, seeing the two women round the corner at the end, seemingly trusting that the trespassers were leaving. “What are you doing?” he asked as Lewis started back down the corridor. “They might come back.”  
  
“They might. But we still have rooms to check. Look. I...” He turned around, seemed to hesitate, not quite meeting James’ eyes. “I promise that next time we’ll just come clean, alright? Identify ourselves as officers and take our chances. No more... you know.” He laughed, but it was forced, almost painfully awkward, and Hathaway could feel his chest grow tight with disappointment.  
  
“Of course, Sir.” He nodded, quickly looking away. He’d already given away too much today and wanted at least to be able to pretend that this hurt was hidden even though he knew that Lewis was able to read him too well for that. It had always been part of the problem.  
  
They worked in silence, trying the doors again, and picking up where they’d left off. Most of them were locked as before and the few that were open were nothing more than cleaning cupboards or toilets. They rounded the corner cautiously but there was no sign of the two crew members from earlier. Lewis pointed at another staircase at the end of this corridor, presumably leading above deck at the other end of the ship and Hathaway nodded.  
  
Halfway through they struck gold. Well, an open door at any rate, one leading to what was clearly the staff room. It was far from luxurious; a small kitchenette at one end, tucked around a partition wall, a couple of battered looking tables and chairs, and a row of lockers. It was also blessedly empty.  
  
“No one should be on break now, not until the food service has finished,” Hathaway commented, scrutinising the rota taped to the wall. His voice sounded perfectly even and his fingers skimming the paper didn’t shake at all.  
  
“Good, good,” Lewis answered absently. He was focussed on the row of lockers, running a hand over the doors, almost... Almost like he was caressing them.  
  
Hathaway cleared his throat. “Sir? What are you doing? I assume they’re locked and we can’t...”  
  
He trailed off in surprise as Robbie suddenly let out a triumphant: “Ha!” and thumped the lockers hard on the side, the bang of metal making James jump.  
  
“See, wide open,” Lewis said, pulling the first door open with a tip of his finger. He grinned, some of the earlier awkwardness vanishing in the face of his genuine delight. “Used to have lockers just like this at my old football club. Not the most secure when you know just where to knock.” He tapped the side of his nose meaningfully and despite his hurt and confusion, despite not knowing where exactly they stood, Hathaway felt an answering smile cross his features.  
  
Briefly.  
  
“Well then,” he said, “Let’s have a look.”  
  
They started at the opposite ends. The first two lockers were unremarkable, containing only jackets and handbags, bottle of water and tennis racket in one of them. The third one, however, produced a far more incriminating bounty. At the bottom of the locker, underneath some magazines and an old umbrella, Hathaway uncovered something hard and heavy, wrapped in a plastic bag. He knew what it was as soon as he picked it up, the weight and feel of it familiar from firearms training and those few occasions he’d have to carry one on the job.  
  
“Sir,” he said, using the edge of his t-shirt to open the bag just enough for the two of them to confirm its contents.  
  
Lewis frowned, unhappily. “Anything in there that would tell us who this belongs to?”  
  
They drew a blank on that one. There was nothing with a name or any kind of identification at all in the locker.  
  
Robbie huffed, annoyed. “We could just start questioning the staff. They’ll know whose locker this is.”  
  
“And give our potential shooter here fair warning. Just having the gun doesn’t mean they’re going to use it. If we arrest them now...” Hathaway spread his hands.  
  
“Yeah, yeah, a good defence lawyer will have him out with nothing but a slap on the wrist for illegal possession and some hate mail.” Lewis gazed down into the bag. “Any ideas?”  
  
Carefully, James took it from him, wrapping the gun back up and tucking it where he’d found it, closing the locker. “We wait.”  
  
  
***  
  
  
And so they did.  
  
James, the clever sod that he was, had argued that whoever would come for the gun, would want to do it soon, before the end of dinner service meant a steady flux of staff coming in for their breaks. The kitchenette gave enough cover that it wouldn’t be immediately obvious someone else was in the room, unless whoever was checking was thorough. And Hathaway thought that they’d be too distracted for that.  
  
“People see what they expect to see,” he said, his voice far too even. Which is why Robbie knew for certain that he wasn’t just talking about their suspect.  
  
So there they were, huddled in the small space between a fridge and microwave. The partitions were low enough that Hathaway was forced to slouch down uncomfortably or risk having his head visible. Robbie found his attention drawn to the long line of his legs, the way Hathaway’s large hands gripped the edge of the counter, as tightly as they’d held onto Robbie’s shirt just mere minutes earlier.  
  
With some effort, he turned around so that his gaze was firmly directed at the lockers, just visible through the gap in the makeshift walls. Robbie could feel the weight of an impending decision, knew he had a choice to make here, and soon. He could carry on as nothing had happened and everything would stay the same; he and James would still work together (until he retired at least) and go for drinks together (though maybe only until he retired) and occasionally share a meal or an outing (but what about when he retired, what then, what if he...).  
  
Robbie suddenly felt a cold certainty of what was to come if he did nothing. The two of them would drift apart, without meaning to, but inevitably nevertheless; James returning to his studies or the church, while Robbie would be left with empty days and excuses.  
  
He didn’t want that. He wanted...  
  
“Sir?” Hathaway’s voice pulled him out of his own head, back into the dingy kitchenette. “Are you... alright? Just... You looked...”  
  
“I’m fine, lad,” Lewis said, giving a decisive nod. And he was. Because he had a chance to change things, he had a chance to... He turned around, ready to say something, anything, that would break the tension and let James know that he wanted—  
  
Someone opened the break room door.  
  
In an instant all their attention snapped to what was happening on the other side of the partition walls.  
  
It seemed that Hathaway’s prediction was accurate. A man entered the room, dressed in the staff uniform, and opened the locker, his movements swift and decisive as he pulled out the plastic bag.  
  
They’d seen enough. Lewis was first to step out, Hathaway right behind him. “I think you should put that down.” Lewis held out his warrant card, circling toward the door, hoping to block the exit.  
  
The man, who he could now see was the bartender from earlier, visibly startled, whipping around.  
  
“Police,” Lewis identified himself, automatically falling into the caution: “I’m arresting you for the possession of a firearm with intention to endanger life. You do not have to say anything but it may harm your defence if you do not mention—”  
  
It seemed the situation was not so easily solved, however. Instead of doing as he was told, the man unwrapped the deadly parcel and had the gun in his grip before Lewis could even blink.  
  
“Hey, hey, let’s take it easy now,” Robbie said, holding up his hands in what he hoped was a calming manner, all the while cursing silently. Two seasoned coppers like them, and James with his extra smarts too, and neither of them had thought to empty the gun of bullets.  
  
“I have been ‘taking it easy’,” the bartender said. His eyes were clear and calm, his stance relaxed. “I have given plenty of warning to Mr Atkins what would happen if he brought this... this abomination here.”  
  
From the corner of his eye Lewis could see Hathaway taking a slow, cautious step toward them, still out of the gunman’s sights.  
  
“You have, absolutely.” Robbie was agreeing and nodding, trying to keep their target distracted and talking for just a little longer. “Admirable patience on your part.”  
  
“And now it’s run out.” The words were frighteningly true. There was a look a person got when they were willing to cross the line and Lewis saw it in the eyes above the gun. “Now, step aside or I—”  
  
Hathaway grabbed the man from behind, going straight for the arm holding the gun. Lewis dove to the side, out of the line of possible fire, his heart hammering in his chest. He tried to find a way to help, but James and the gunman were still struggling, too close for him to intervene without the risk of making things worse.  
  
Turned out, they got worse anyway. With a shouted “Fucking faggot lover!” the bartender-slash-dangerous-bigot managed to jam his fist into James’ stomach. He doubled over but, grabbing hold of his opponent’s jacket, brought him to the floor with him.  
  
Robbie cursed, prepared to wade in after all, when the tussle was brought short by the heart-stopping sound of a gun being fired.  
  
The shot rang disproportionately loud in the small room. It was like being suddenly drenched in ice cold water, the terrible, all too real possibility of loss washing over him in waves of ‘no, no, please not him too’ and for a few seconds he could not move, could not breathe, could do nothing but regret.  
  
Then James pulled back his arm and punched the gunman straight on the nose. “Fuck,” he said, shaking his hand. “That didn’t quite go as planned, Sir. Sir? Are you alright? What...?”  
  
Robbie was on the ground.  
  
  
***  
  
  
Two hours later it was all over. Except for the dancing, apparently, as Hathaway could hear the music starting up again.  
  
“And the paperwork,” Lewis added, coming to stand next to him at the railing. “Don’t forget about the paperwork.”  
  
“Wouldn’t dream of it, Sir.” James kept his gaze on the river, watching the play of lights on the waves as they passed at a leisurely pace. His stomach was still tender from its meeting with a fist, but at least he was able to stand straight and walk around, albeit a little gingerly.  
  
Evening had fallen in earnest, while they had dealt with the conveniently unconscious Joe Cunard, aka bartender with some extreme prejudices and knowledge on how to acquire an illegal gun. Luckily, the only casualty had been the break room wall, the shot leaving a neat bullet hole next to the lockers.  
  
Once they’d ascertained that everyone was alive and well, and their offender subdued, it had been relatively easy to inform Mr Atkins and the ship’s captain and radio the whole thing in. Innocent had had a patrol car and an ambulance – no need to take any risks about Mr Cunard’s wellbeing, everyone wanted him whole and healthy for the court – waiting at the nearest pier big enough for the ship to stop at.  
  
There had also been a message to ‘take the rest of the weekend off’ and once Mr Atkins had heard that one, he’d insisted that the ‘two heroes of the hour’ stayed on to enjoy the cruise. James hadn’t been sure, a large part of him wanting the safety of his flat or even the office. Staying meant spending more time with Robbie, staying meant talking about what had happened and that... That quite likely meant having it all explained away as nothing more than having gotten carried away.  
  
All things considered, James would rather cling on to his ‘maybe’ just a little while longer. He cast a sideways glance at Lewis, taking in his serious ‘we need to talk’ expression and decided to see if he could delay the inevitable. Plus, he was still worried, even though the paramedic had checked them both over, Lewis thoroughly at James’ insistence.  
  
“Maybe you should sit down, Sir,” he said. “You’re still looking a little grey.”  
  
Robbie glared at him. “I’m fine,” he said. “And I did not faint and there was no need to go bleating about that to all and sundry. I just...” He ran a frustrated hand through his hair, turning to face James fully, seeming to have come to a decision of sorts. “Truthfully? I thought you were hurt and it... did rather fell me there for a moment, and then when I realised you weren’t... Well, I got a bit weak at the old knees. From relief.”  
  
James gripped the railing hard, looking at Robbie’s face and the remnants of fear there, as long as he could. Then he shifted his gaze back to the river, and the darkening sky above it. “I didn’t... I’m fine,” he said, even if it wasn’t technically true. “Everything’s fine.”  
  
“Ah, lad,” he heard Robbie sigh, almost as if to himself, and then “James,” directed at him now, “James, look at me. Please, this isn’t... easy, but I... Please?”  
  
It was a warm night, but the feel of Robbie’s hand on his back, gently turning him, made him shiver anyway. “It’s quite alright, Sir,” he said, wrapping his arms around his middle and hating himself for such an obvious gesture. “There’s no need to—”  
  
“There’s every need,” Robbie interrupted. “I want to... to explain... to ask...” He sighed, clearly exasperated with himself. “Why am I making such a hash of this?” The question sounded rhetorical, directed as it was toward the stars.  
  
“You kissed me so as not to blow our cover,” James said, because someone had to, and maybe it was easier this way. “It’s fine, you don’t need to worry about it. I understand.”  
  
Robbie looked at him sharply. “That’s just it,” he said. “I don’t think you do. Yes. I kissed you so we wouldn't blow our cover. But I kept kissing you because I _wanted_ to.”  
  
James could feel his mouth opening in reply but the only thing that came out was a shaky exhale. They stared at each other for long moments, during which nothing seemed to move; he didn’t blink, didn’t breathe, _couldn’t_ think at all. It was as if his mind was entirely unprepared to deal with this eventuality, because... Well, because he never believed it would happen.  
  
Finally, after endless seconds of silence, Hathaway managed to utter one word: “Why?”  
  
Incongruously, Lewis snorted in laughter. “Should’ve expected that, huh?” He shook his head, clearly amused, and James felt a flash of irritation at how relaxed and unconcerned he seemed when he himself felt like he was hollowed out, nothing but an empty shell waiting to be filled with either joy or despair. “Don’t,” he said, voice catching. “I can’t...”  
  
“Oh, lad, no,” Robbie said, his hands coming to rest on James’ shoulders, grounding him. “I’m not... This isn’t a joke. I wouldn’t do that. James... I...” He looked down briefly, then back up again, something bright and fierce in his eyes that made James’ breath catch with hope. “I’ve wanted to kiss you for a while,” Robbie said. “I’d quite like to do it again if—”  
  
The rest of the sentence was muffled by James’ mouth but that was okay as Robbie got his message across just fine, even without words.  
  
  
***  
  
  
“Dancing, huh?” There was a definite note of amusement in James’ voice, but his grip was strong and he showed no inclination of actually getting off the floor.  
  
“Shut it,” Robbie grumbled, shuffling them toward one end of the miniscule dance space, jostled by other couples. To the side, Mr Atkins was looking supremely pleased, talking to a young woman who inexplicably gave him and James a thumbs up when she caught Robbie’s eyes.  
  
“I’ll have you know I was a bit of a mover in my day. Used to take Val dancing all the time when we were dating,” he continued. As soon as the words left his mouth, he wondered if he shouldn’t have mentioned her. It wasn’t really the done thing, was it, to talk about one’s previous relationships on... Bloody hell, on the first date.  
  
But James only huffed, pointedly asking: “What’s this ‘in your day’ talk? Today is your day too, isn’t it?”  
  
Robbie grinned, spinning James awkwardly. “Our day,” he corrected. “And tomorrow too.” Val was part of his past and part of him, and James had always been accepting of that, but now there was this too: a future.  
  
Around them, people danced and laughed, happy and safe. Robbie felt grateful; for being, in small part, responsible for that, and for the man smiling at him as they swayed to the song, fully aware of the cheesiness of it all but uncaring.  
  
A breeze blew in from the shore and picked up the sound life and music, carrying it over the dancers and past the ship, down the old river and all the way to the sea.


End file.
